There are strange things done 'neath the wint'ring sun

By those who moil with words

Meandering roads have their secret codes

That sometimes seem absurd

The big city lights have seen strange sights

But the strangest they ever once knew

Was that night on the marge of utter farkage

When they formed a Gutter Krew.

Now the old Gutter Krew was a mere chosen few

(Selected by God knows who)

There was a beer-loving Cat known just by his scat

And the Brothers stood there too

The Captain, they said, was a Honda gear-head

And the first mate just a bit Cranky

While down below decks were the virtual wrecks

Of Spud and Tom and Lefty.

To make it complete (and to be indiscrete)

There was Bob and Greg and O/E

Friends at the last, whatever their past,

A semi-deranged company

There were others there too and the avatars flew

In the face of all that is holy

For their ways were quite strange and their words so arranged

To defy anyone's logic wholly

Against them arrayed with talent displayed

Was the distaff side of the game

The broadsides would roar and the cannon would score

Each round adding fuel to the flame

The Krew tried to stay hot and returned every shot

In battles for all the marbles

For quite a long while they kept up with a smile

Even tho' it was all wharrgarble.

But the sad truth was – and I say this with cause –

The Krew was finally undone

I heard them a-mutter as they played in the gutter –

“We're too long out in the sun”

They just couldn't beat those forces replete

With wisdom and intuition

That swashbuckling bunch – who refused to make lunch –

Best known as the Pirate Wimmin